No Cake in the Car
by MidnightMadwoman
Summary: Set in 1991, The Winchesters, (John, 8-year old Sam and 12-year old Dean) work a case at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza which they believe is a routine haunting. But, like always, things aren't quite so simple as the dark history of the franchise never stays buried. Sometimes the scariest things aren't the the ones you need to worry about. "Does dad know how to fight robots?" Wee!chesters


**AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story makes a lot more sense if you have a detailed knowledge of the Five Nights at Freddy's storyline. If you're not a gamer (and I'm not), or can't be bothered Freddy Wiki-ing all the characters and details, I'd recommend watching MattPat's Game Theory videos on YouTube. In fact, they're worth watching even if you don't read this story. FNAF's story is terrifying and terrific.**

 **Special thanks to Nightmare on Titan for giving me the idea for this story. I'd feel bad if I didn't give them credit.**

 **MONDAY MAY 13** **TH** **, 1991**

"What's your name, my young friend?" said the raspy, ridiculously chipper voicebox of the fuzzy animatronic chicken in the t-shirt. Its long, plastic eyelashes batted as its black eyelids blinked with artificial interest.

"Sam," replied the 8-year old. His dad and brother were skulking around, doing something sketchy they wouldn't tell him about. John Winchester had started including his younger son on more missions here and there, but Dean and Sam's instructions for the day had been "look out for Sam" and "try to have fun" respectively. Despite that, Sam could tell that they were only at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza to investigate the rumours and not because of Sam's birthday.

Just for fun, he said to Chica the animatronic "I turned 8 two weeks ago." Which he had. It was insulting how his dad kept treating him like a little kid.

"Well, that's terrific!" exclaimed the robot. Sam almost rolled his eyes, but Chica continued. "Happy Belated, Sam. Meet me after dinner and I'll make sure you get a piece of cake. Don't fill up on pizza." She leaned forward and put her wing alongside her beak, pantomiming a secret. "You can have a piece of Jeffrey's. It's huge. They'll never finish the whole thing, anyway."

Sam smiled, forgetting for a second he was talking to a corporate character. He looked at Chica in the mouth, trying to make eye contact with the Fazbear Entertainment employee in the suit. He saw only steel machinery behind her teeth. He looked at her eyes for a peephole, but they were only solid, glossy plastic. They blinked knowingly and followed him.

"What's the deal, banana peel?" asked the animatronic, in her pull-string doll voice.

"Are you controlled by an actor in an office somewhere?" asked Sam as he walked in a circle around the chicken, looking for wires.

"Nope!" she replied brightly. "Nobody here but us chickens. Got no strings on me." She did a stiff little mechanical jig and smiled her surprisingly sincere robot grin.

"I'm gonna check out your arcade," said Sam uneasily, backing away. "I'll see you later for cake."

"Sure thing, little buddy!" The chicken turned to a nearby girl in a puffy yellow dress. "Hello, my young friend! Why, you look like you need a party hat."

* * *

"So what happens to the leftover birthday cake?" 12-year old Dean asked the teenager behind the prize counter. Behind it was a wall of water guns, helicopters and oversized stuffed Bonnies, Freddies and Foxies.

16-year old Colleen, as her nametag read, stood next to a large sculpture of a smiling puppet with a purple-striped white face. "I can't help but notice you're really not getting into the spirit of things here, kid."

"Do you just throw it away, or do you guys get to pig out in the break room after hours?"

"No, nobody much sticks around after we close," she replied. "Believe it or not, everyone here is itching to get back to their own lives. Besides, you really don't want to be here after hours."

"The kids' families probably take it home, huh," continued Dean thoughtfully. "It'd be a shame to waste it. If it were me, and I had a huge pile of leftover cake, I'd just be like RAH…" and he proceeded to gorge on imaginary cake.

"Dean!" blurted Sam as he hurried over to his brother. "The robots are real!"

"I know, aren't they radical?" answered Colleen from behind the counter. "I can't believe they're at a place like this. You'd think they'd put advanced robotics like these in, like, medical labs or space stations or something."

"So you like robots, do you?" said Dean, leaning on the glass counter and trying to turn on whatever charm he had.

"Dude, listen to me! The robots are alive!"

Colleen pulled a face and glanced at the puppet beside her. "Kid, you're ruining the mood."

"Does dad know how to fight robots?" whispered Sam.

Dean stopped and finally started paying attention. "What do you mean they're alive?"

"The chicken talked to me. Her voice wasn't a recording."

"So? There's someone in the suit. Haven't you ever seen a mascot?" offered Dean.

Colleen looked over Sam's head to the animatronic Chica talking to children over near Mortal Kombat. "You know, we do have a couple of suits but Chica over there isn't one of them. She's a robot." Colleen raised her voice and called to the android. "Chica, aren't you supposed to stay on the Jamboree stage with everyone else? Better get back to the party room."

"Right you are, Colleen!" she replied merrily, to Dean's surprise. "See you at the show, everyone," she told her little friends before tottering away.

"It's funny, supposedly there used to be a combination robotic suit," continued the girl to the brothers, "but it got 86ed after it smooshed someone."

"What?" asked Dean as he goggled at her.

"And don't get me started on Mister Haunted Puppet here," she said with a grin, patting the clown sculpture.

Sam gasped and Dean squinted at her. "You're messing with us." Colleen laughed. "Don't mess with little kids. They'll believe you, you psycho."

"I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle. "I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been funny." She made a serious face. "Fazbear Entertainment's official position is that, while the disappearance of children is tragic, ghosts, ghost stories, killer robots and all rumours of them are nonsense. The company is not responsible for any loss, injury or demise that occurs on premises. Everyone's safety is their own responsibility, or the responsibility of their legal guardian, if they're under the age of 18." She inhaled exaggeratedly, as if spouting the company line were an arduous task. She turned to Sam and smiled. "Is there anything I can get for you, champ? Do you have enough tickets for a Balloon Boy beanie or a whistle?"

"No, I don't have any tickets."

"Okay, well, why don't you go play some games and come back?" answered Colleen. "I understand that Skee-Ball pays out the best."

"Go on, Sammy," added Dean. "I'll stay here and keep Colleen company."

"Nice try, Casanova," said the clerk. "I heard your dad tell you boys to stay together. Kids who disobey their parents around here get fed to the Mangle." She chuckled, then stopped abruptly. "Seriously though, give the androids their space."

* * *

John Winchester had ducked though the Employees Only door to scope the place out. He got a good look at the machine shop, which held a creepy, Terminator-by-way-of-Astroboy cartoon animal skeleton. There were also the empty heads of furry characters and some glossy plastic heads he didn't remember seeing on the robot jamboree stage.

He also noticed a yellow bear suit in a locked metal cage with two corporate memos taped to the wall. The first was dated 1985 and announced the robotic suit's retirement from use for safety reasons, for the foreseeable future. The second was dated November 1990 and was the notification of a new policy: the yellow Freddy costume was not be taken out of the cage and used unless one manager and two employees signed off on the log sheet provided.

John continued to explore the building, stopping at the kitchen next. There he saw the five pizza makers at work: two were actually assembling pizzas while the other three were waiting for an order to come in and throwing pepperonis around like Frisbees. They were trying to catch them in their mouths, all the while loudly narrating all the hard work they were not doing.

John took in the scene and spotted the camera in the corner of the room. "That camera doesn't work, does it?"

"No, but the microphone does," murmured a skinny fellow kneading dough. The embroidery on his apron simply read "dough master".

"If you're looking for the rest room," said a heavyset bald guy with 2 earrings, "they're across the hall."

"Actually, I'm looking for the office," lied John. "I'm responding to the Help Wanted ad."

"It's yours," said another guy. "As long as you showed up, you're pretty much hired. Nobody wants that damn job. Nobody wants to be here any long-HRGHK!" He coughed and chewed the pepperoni his co-worker had thrown into his mouth.

"Tubular! Ten points for me!" said the guy standing next to the oven. "Are you writing this down?"

"Because a proper paper trail is something we take very seriously here at the Fazbear team," added earring guy in a loud voice, glancing at the camera.

"And hey, welcome aboard," said the skinny Dough Master. "The office is down this hall to the left. If you reach the supply closet, you've gone too far."

The head of a teenage girl popped through a hole in the wall. "Guys, I need 5 pep, 3 cheese and one veg. Is party room 2 ready yet?"

"Another… 8 minutes," said the guy standing next to the oven.

"Hey Syl…" said the choking guy as he rolled up his sleeves. "…catch!" He threw a pepperoni at her at it smacked into the wall next to the window.

"You guys are idiots," replied the waitress retreating, presumably into a party room.

* * *

Dean wandered around the play area, taking it all in. He'd promised Colleen that he wouldn't punch any of the characters and since Sam seemed happy enough with the game tokens in the arcade, Dean could venture off where he liked. His father mentioned something about performing recon but he was in a room of yellow plastic tunnels, 5-cent maracas and pizza crusts. How sinister could this operation possibly be?

He walked into a room called Pirates' Cove, which was littered with toys and 5-year olds. The back wall was hung with a purple curtain, behind which lurked a fuzzy robot fox that would periodically sing a jolly pirate shanty to everyone within earshot. Foxy had just finished his song and the motorized curtains were in the middle of jerking closed again.

A small child beside him had constructed a three-foot monolith out of every light blue Lego block she could find and had placed a Barbie and a Crash Test Dummy on the pinnacle. In her hunt for something new with which to embellish her structure, she grasped a nearby piece of something – a white plastic robotic arm – and affixed it to the side.

The arm promptly straightened itself and waved at the elbow: Hello. The girl waved back and the hand bent its fingers, giving her a coy "yoo-hoo" greeting.

Dean couldn't believe his eyes. He looked to the floor and saw among the Koosh balls and Hot Wheels another matching robot arm. He picked it up and held it in the air, comparing the two. When the left and right robot arms were within 18 inches of each other, the two hands jerked toward each other, delivering an unmistakeable high-five. The little girl squealed and clapped while Dean was held in startled fascination.

Dean looked around the playroom with purpose. Strewn here and there, forgotten and neglected were pieces of the same white plastic android. He plugged the left arm into a piece of a torso he found and got a high-five from the arm for his effort. He smiled, thinking about helping his dad rebuild the car, and set about putting the animatronic together.

* * *

It was a busy day in the arcade and Sam had trouble finding a game that didn't have a long lineup of kids itching to give it a try. Streetfighter, Sonic and Afterburner all had 10-minute waits and even The Simpsons game was occupied. The only three games that had no players at all were Whack-A-Mole, Ms. Pacman and Ninja Turtles pinball. He headed over to Ms. Pacman.

It was obviously the oldest game in the building: the back panel being held in place with duct tape, evidence that it had been opened, repaired and refurbished multiple times. Sam half-expected the game to simply eat his token without firing up, but he took a leap of faith.

There appeared lighted on the black screen a small figure with a white face and black eyes. Two blue stripes ran from its eyes to its mouth, making it resemble the puppet at the prize counter. It waved at Sam.

A purple figure appeared on the screen from the left. The tear-striped child appeared alarmed and ran off the screen to the right. Then Ms. Pacman started.

Sam made short work of level one and as soon as he'd beaten it, the screen shorted out and a crude, different 8-bit game began. A brown bear in a hat was holding a cake, flanked by eight mewling children. Sam used the joystick to move the bear and touch the kids with the cake, making their tantrums stop. A ninth child stood outside Freddy's reach looking on and weeping until, after Sam had scored 40 points, his button controls locked.

In 8-bit, a purple figure approached the crying, excluded child, turning its eyes black. The crying child's face then occupied the entire screen, its tears turning purple and a smile stretching across its digital face. Then the screen crashed.

"Son of a bitch!" whispered Sam to himself, thinking he'd been locked out.

The words _YOU SED A BAD WERD_ suddenly scrawled on the screen.

"You can hear me?" asked Sam quietly.

 _YA. SORRY._ Level 2 of Ms. Pacman started. Shaken, Sam continued to play.

After every level, there came an ugly mini game that showed a purple man turning into a yellow bear and apparently killing five other children. The game identified these children as "Tiffany, Andrew, Jason, Shurelle and Noel." A sixth child with a striped face appeared, identified as Alicia, and they then hovered above Freddy Fazbear's original 4 animatronics.

The console then allowed Sam to play the final level of Ms. Pacman, asking him to enter his initials on the High Score screen at the end. He did.

After he punched them in, the three letters of his name sank to the bottom of the screen. A purple man pictograph appeared above them, and Sam watched as the words _I HOPE_ and _DUS INT GET_ surrounded him.

 _I hope [a purple man] doesn't get Sam_.

* * *

"Hey, you fixed him!" said a waiter whose nametag identified him as Ben. "I guess we can't very well call him the Mangle anymore, can we?"

"Where's his head?" Dean asked him.

"Beats me," answered Ben. "He's supposed to be in storage. I had no idea we even had this many pieces of him still around."

"'Na balls," mumbled the girl with the blue Legos.

"What was that?" asked Dean. The little girl shrunk away from him. "It's okay, you're not in trouble."

"His head is inna balls," she said quietly, pointing to the ball pit behind the rope cage.

Dean and the waiter craned to look and a faded white plastic ear could be seen among the circles of plastic. "I should tell someone about that," said Ben.

* * *

"Sam, I need you to grab something in the ball pit," said Dean, joining his brother who was standing contemplating Ms. Pacman's High Score screen. "The cardboard rabbit says I'm too tall."

"This place is definitely haunted," said Sam, not taking his eyes off the warning.

Dean looked at the glowing 8-bit message. "Who's that purple guy?"

"I don't know," replied Sam, "but he killed six kids over the years."

"That's pretty grim for an arcade game."

"No, he's not a Pacman character. He's the one who murders kids at this pizzeria. We have to tell dad."

"Okay, we will," replied Dean. "But first I need your help building a robot."

* * *

"You're hired," said Peggy the manager when John walked through the office door. She didn't even bother looking up. "Welcome to the Freddy Fazbear family. Please sign the waiver there on the desk."

"So, you just throw jobs at anyone who wanders in off the street?" asked John.

Peggy continued reading the alarm report and replied nonchalantly. "Any mental disorders, drug problems or criminal history that would keep us from allowing you to work with children have no bearing on the night shift. You'll be all by yourself, in a single room you can't leave, surrounded by things not worth stealing." She finally looked at him, peering up over the tops of her reading glasses. "Nobody's worried about _you_ causing any problems."

"That doesn't sound like much of a job. Do you even need anyone to do it?" John paused, then added "Wait, what _are_ you afraid is going to cause problems?"

"Sign the NDA and the waiver and I'll tell you."

John leaned forward and scribbled his name at the bottom of the form. "And here." He did. "Initial here and here, and one last time here." When he was done, Peggy looked over the contract and, deciding everything was copasetic, nodded and took off her glasses. "Alright. The animatronics here are very old. In fact, they're all part of the original roster that have recently been resurrected from retirement. The kids love them and they're the headliners here, but at some point in the mid-80s they got soiled and started acting strange in the evening. Since they're now confined to the Jamboree stage during the day, we need someone here to supervise their movements at night."

"Why not just lock 'em up?"

"They need to move, otherwise their servos lock up."

"Then just lock the doors of the building. Why have anyone here at all?"

Peggy glanced at Jon's non-disclosure agreement and shrugged. "At night the robots are confused and… can be hostile. We can't risk them leaving the premises. Someone needs to stay in the security office in part to hold their attention."

"Jesus! The night guard is bait for the robots?"

"Did I say bait? No. Nobody said bait. Fazbear Entertainment doesn't like the word bait. Your job will be to simply entertain the mechanical characters at night, not unlike how they entertain children during the day."

"If I take this job, what exactly is it I'm risking here?"

"Like I said, our characters get confused. If they see someone here after hours, they'll think you're an endoskeleton and they'll try to reunite you with the rest of your parts."

"And?" asked John, confused.

"They'll grab you, cram you into an animatronic and crush you to death."

"Sounds like the Freddy friends need a good old tune up."

"There is nothing wrong with our robots," replied Peggy, prompting an incredulous look from John. She continued, "They work absolutely perfectly. Corporate has decided to treat the 6-hour nightly period of problematic quirkiness as just that – a quirk. It's a work-around. Everyone is out of the restaurant by 10pm, you arrive at 11 and the hazard emerges at midnight, lasting until 6am. The janitorial staff isn't here until 8am, leaving us a 2-hour safety buffer on either side. Fazbear Entertainment has more than done its due diligence."

"Well, you're crazy if you think any new hire will stick around after that nice little spiel of yours."

"You'll be fine, don't be a baby. It's the easiest job in the world. You just sit on your tush, eat your snacks, keep your head down and collect your cheque. And conserve your power. That last one is really important."

"Really? Because it seems like you can't even give this job away."

Peggy shrugged. "What can I say? A lot of people are freaked out by our characters. Don't ask me why."

* * *

"Does it smell more like pee or like puke in there, Sam?" Dean asked as his brother waded through the coloured orbs.

"Neither, it smells fine." He looked around. "What am I looking for? I don't see anything."

"I saw it over by the black rope fence. It's greyish plastic."

Sam moved over toward the back corner, swishing the balls with his foot, feeling for the animatronic's head. He got all the way to the back wall, shrugged and looked back at Dean. He was about to yell to his brother when he heard a small voice say "Sam?"

He looked over and the blue Lego girl stood behind the wall of black cord. She pointed to a spot in the balls two feet from him. He leaned forward and spotted a silverfish nose and some blunt metal teeth. Sam reached in and pulled out a shiny plastic head with pointy ears and one eye.

"Wicked, that's it! Thanks, Sammy," called Dean from the arcade floor.

Sam waded back over and put on his shoes. "Can I see what you're building?"

The two brothers walked back to Pirates' Cove with the head. There they found the rest of the animatronic standing upright waiting for them and the little girl sitting on a table, kicking her feet expectantly. Dean places its head on its neck and its eyes immediately sprung to life, blinking with recognition. There it stood, for the first time in over a decade, assembled correctly and with care; complete and whole. It smiled, hopping from foot to foot excitedly and raised a hand in the air. Dean gave it a hearty, triumphant high-five. The grey android leaned forward and took a good look at Sam. He patted its head.

The little girl leapt off the table, ran over and hugged the Mangle's legs. "Foxy!" she squealed.

"Oh yeah," said Dean, looking from the assembled robot to the furry red one behind the curtain. "I guess he does kind of look like him."

"Him and the puppet are friends," the little girl added.

"What puppet?" asked Dean. "That one behind the prize counter?"

The child nodded. "Dean, who is this kid?"

"My name is Allie," said the girl.

"She's Allie," repeated Dean, as if they were old friends.

"Sam? Dean!" called John from the arcade.

"I think your sons are in the ball pit," replied a female voice. Colleen?

The Mangle jerked, as though frightened. It scuttled with startling speed up the wall like a spider, across the ceiling and behind the curtain of the Pirate Jamboree stage. The brothers looked at each other in shock. Allie was still smiling, thrilled and unperturbed.

"We're in here, dad," answered Dean.

"We're moving out," said John from the doorway. "Be ready to leave in ten."

"Yes, sir."

"Allie, do you want my ticke…" asked Sam, holding them out and turning to an empty spot. He glanced around but she was nowhere to be seen.

"No way," said Dean, yanking the paper tickets out of his brother's hand. "I need these to buy a whistle from that prize counter babe." He ducked out of Pirate's Cove, leaving Sam alone.

* * *

"Status report," commanded the senior Winchester as the Impala roared back to the motel. "What did you boys find out?"

"The robots are alive and the place is haunted," sputtered Sam loudly.

"Good, good," replied John. "Who's haunting it?"

"Probably those 5 kids that disappeared from a birthday party in 84," offered Dean.

John smiled. "Their official position is that, what with habeas corpus, they can't assume the kids are dead. All they know is that they went missing. For all Fazbear's people know, they could have just wandered away."

"They didn't," said Sam.

"Haiby iscor piss? That means they never found any bodies, right?" asked Dean. His father nodded. "If there's no bodies, how are we going to burn the remains?"

"We come by at 10:30, before the night guard shows up and look for them," answered John. "My best guess is that they're stashed in the parts and repair shop."

"That's a bad idea," said Sam.

"Yeah, I heard the robots go nuts after dark," added Dean. "Do you know how to fight robots?"

"The robots are fine until midnight," snapped John. "That gives us an hour and a half to do what we need to, bust the ghosts and leave. What's with you two? We'll grab some tacos, get a few hours of shut-eye then undertake the mission. This will be simple."

That was the last anyone said for the rest of the car ride. In the silence, Sam thought long and hard about those scary 8-bit mini games the Ms. Pacman console showed him. Weren't there 6 kids killed?

* * *

The Winchesters sat in the Impala, watching the Fazbear employees leave in bunches at 9:45. Dean watched in dismay as Colleen got into a car and gave the teenaged boy behind the wheel a kiss. They waited another ten minutes to make sure no one was coming back to retrieve anything they'd forgotten, then went to work.

John had Sam pick the lock (for practise), then assigned him the role of animatronic wrangler while John and Dean searched for the kids' bodies. Their rationale was that the kid-friendly robots would be least likely to go after 8-year old Sam, since entertaining children was hardwired into their circuitry.

As the elder two Winchesters rummaged through the machine shop by flash-light, Sam sought out the animatronics. The rabbit, the bear and the chicken were all motionless on the jamboree stage, and the red fox was on his own stage in Pirates Cove. And that was it. There were only four animatronics, weren't there? There were only four on the posters. Did that puppet count as an animatronic? Sam was pretty sure it was just a decoration. What about that white plastic fox that Dean had put together? Sam headed off to find it, being watched from above the whole time by the Mangle, silently overhead. The android followed him as he went, slithering stealthily across the ceiling like a lizard.

* * *

"Dad, I got some bad news," said Dean, peering at a document he'd found. He'd jimmied open the filing cabinet in the office and had found a folder full of newspaper clippings. "I doubt we're going to find any bodies here."

"You don't know that. I just found an access panel. Could be anything down there." He put down his screwdriver and walked over to his son. "Why so quick to call this a lost cause, Negative Nancy?"

"Those five kids weren't killed here," answered Dean. "This isn't even the real restaurant."

"What do you mean, 'the real restaurant?'"

"Look here. Those kids went missing from a Colorado location that was shut down after the scandal. They opened another one with a whole bunch of shiny new robots. They were even equipped with anti-molester software, but even that didn't stop weird stuff from happening. This Freddy Fazbear place is, at least, the third one there's been. Any incriminating evidence would be long gone by now."

"Rrrgh, damnit!" barked John. "There's really nothing original still here?"

"No, nothing," said Dean with an apologetic shrug. Then he gasped. "Except those old fuzzy robots!"

"Let's torch 'em," said John with a smile and a flick of his lighter. He looked at his watch. "And we gotta hurry."

"I thought you said the animatronics don't go berserk until midnight. What time is it?"

"It's 11:15. Security's already here."

* * *

In the stillness of the building, the grind of security guard Paul Giardi's key in the lock echoed like a gunshot. Dean closed the file cabinet as quietly as he could and he and his father slunk through the shadows to go find Sam.

Paul took his sweet time puttering through the door. He walked straight to the security office and dropped his tote bag, pulled out his lunch and walked to the kitchen. It was 11:20 by now, but whatever. He'd been with the company for 15 years, since the old days. He could show up as late as he damn well pleased. What were they going to do, replace him? That'll be the day. Nobody ever lasted more than 5 nights, 6 at the very most. And Peg said that today's interview had been a bust. Oh well. Another day, another washout who couldn't hack it.

Paul put on a pot of coffee and put his Tupperware in the microwave, never once looking down and seeing Sam, shimmying alongside the prep station counter. Nor did he once look up and notice the Mangle hanging from the pipes, snarling with soundless venom.

Five minutes later his "lunch" was hot and two minutes after that the coffee was ready. Paul spent another fifteen minutes on the phone having an argument with his… wife? Ex-wife? Whoever it was, it didn't sound to Sam like they much cared to speak with the guard before his graveyard shift. Someone wouldn't let him see his kids "after all he'd done for them" and was dismissing his attempts to explain his behaviour as "excuses". He was also accused of being a drunk, before whoever it was hung up.

The night guard cursed to himself, then checked his watch and cursed louder. He looked at the wall clock and hanging beneath it was a child's drawing with big black circle eyes and blue vertical smears for tears. The guard jumped and quickly yanked it off the wall. "Not tonight," he muttered to himself. "I will not be messed with tonight."

He looked back at the spot from where he'd just ripped down the drawing and saw a poster with the words "IT'S HIM" scrawled across the face of a yellow Freddy Fazbear. He looked at it, puzzled, before ripping it down and tearing it in half. He filled his Thermos with coffee, turned off the pot and headed back toward the security office.

Sam stayed low and quiet as he followed the security guard, with the Mangle following overhead, its animatronic eyes glowing with red pinpricks.

"Sam?" whispered Dean loudly from down the hall.

"Shh!" replied Sam. The security guard turned around and spotted the younger Winchester. Dean ducked into the shadows.

"Oh dear. What are you doing here so late, son?" asked Paul.

"I got locked in the bathroom," stammered Sam, "and the rest of my soccer team left went home."

"Gosh, that's lousy," replied the night guard with a smile. He checked his watch again and grimaced. "My name is Paul. Why don't you come along with me, sport? You'll be safe with me in the camera room. We can call your mom from there."

Paul grabbed Sam's hand and led him swiftly down the hall. "Gee mister, safe from what?"

The night guard glanced around the hallway once more before he stepped into the security office and finally spotted Toy Foxy on the ceiling, glaring at him and shaking his head. "Oh my god!"

The Mangle emitted a hollow, electronic screech and lunged at him, just as Paul slammed the heavy hydraulic door. They could hear the animatronic thump heavily as it hit the door, than bang against it several more times, screeching.

Sam noticed a red _Power Alert_ light on the console start blinking. "Who the hell put the Mangle back together?" blurted Paul.

"What's eating up all your power?"

"The door." Paul activated the camera in the hallway to the right of the security office and watched Mangle skitter down the hall, heading toward Party Room 1. "If we run out before 6am we're scr-" He caught himself. "That would be bad."

"They should give you enough power to last all night," said Sam.

The night guard shrugged and rubbed his fingertips together. _No money._ "Looks like it's just you and me here, buddy. Want some jellybeans?" He opened a plastic bag from his tote.

"No thanks," answered Sam warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that the sooner he reconvened with his family, the better. He noticed a poster on the wall featuring plastic character robots with apple cheeks. "Is it true that someone once got smooshed by a robot?"

Paul grunted and sat down heavily. He gave Sam a pained look "Someone once got smooshed _inside_ a robot. There used to be these suits where the animatronic machinery could be pulled aside and someone could wear it like a costume, but those suits were bloody death traps. My brother was wearing one when all the machinery sprang back into place at once and smooshed him. After that, there were no more robo-suits."

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, kid. It's been a few years."

"Do the robots ever hurt people?"

"No, not really," replied Paul. "They're friendly as heck. Crazy friendly. Except when I'm here, apparently."

"Oh?"

"I think I'm the only person they ever attacked. The plastic robots were the worst. Three or four years ago that stupid screwed-up fox bit me right in the noggin. Took a good chunk out of my scalp, too. Thank god they finally mothballed them. They hated me."

"Why might that be?"

* * *

"Where's your brother?" John asked Dean as quietly as he could. He had decided that the kitchen, a room with a camera he knew to be blind, would be their rendezvous point. Their volume would have to be kept to a minimum, though.

"He's been made," replied Dean. "The security guard has got him in the office."

"Curses." John checked his watch. "It's quarter past midnight, so it's probably safe to assume that the characters are still in their start positions. So that means one fire in the party room and another one in the baby zone."

Dean grimaced. "I don't think we can torch Foxy where he is without burning the stage curtains. The whole building could go up."

"Big chain restaurants like this have insurance."

"Dad, I don't think this is a good idea. We can't even be sure where the characters are."

"I've just about had it with…" began John, stopping abruptly at the sight of a lifesize golden bear costume, standing upright behind Dean. Its body was limp and its head slumped to one side, as if the bear were hanging from an invisible hook in the middle of the air.

Dean noticed his father's horror immediately. "What do you see?" he whispered.

"It's Freddy. He looks dead. What do I do?"

"Just hold still. Maybe he'll wander away. Try not to look at him?"

The two stood frozen, their breath caught in their throats. In his peripheral vision John saw's Freddy's head flop over to the other side, as if his interest were suddenly piqued. John jumped and clamped his eyes shut.

Dean saw something light-coloured scamper past the kitchen's portholes. He turned toward it before he could stop himself and watched with dread as the door bumped open. The Mangle stuck its head in, saw him and gave him a distinct and happy smile and wave. Dean gave him a small, awkward smile in return and did his best to convey an _it's not a good time_ without moving.

Mangle, miraculously, nodded and gave him an _A-OK_. Then the robot looked past him and gave the Freddy lurking in the corner a non-verbal _let's get going_ , before waving Dean goodbye and slithering back out the door.

Several seconds went by. With trepidation, Dean asked "Hey dad, is Freddy gone?"

John opened his eyes, saw the empty spot behind his son, then looked around. "Yeah. Damn, those things are downright terrifying."

* * *

"This is nice," said Paul, putting his feet up on the console. "This is what I miss most about having to work the night shift: hanging out close to the kids. You're always a barrel of monkeys. I love kids, and they loved us, my brother and me." He popped another jellybean into his mouth and chewed it loudly. "Security used to have these purple uniforms, right? The regulars used to call us Purple Bill and Purple Paul." Sam's jaw dropped, but Paul continued, oblivious. "Like the Super Mario Brothers. I guess that would have made me Luigi. Hah."

"You're Purple Paul? The purple guy, that's you?"

"That's me. Gimme a sec, I need to check on our fuzzy friends." The jamboree stage showed Bonnie and Freddy staring at the camera. "Ooh, that's weird. Wonder where Chica is."

"It's you. You're the one responsible for those dead kids," said Sam breathily, almost to himself.

"There she is," said Paul, finding her on the camera. She was standing motionless and aimless in a hallway with the Mangle standing next to her, apparently whispering into her ear. "Okay, we're all good."

Just then, the camera glitched and suddenly Chica's face filled the screen, her hostile, black-rimmed eyes seemingly seeing straight through the camera into the office. A slow, gurgling giggle emerged from the speaker and Paul shuddered and quickly turned off the feed.

"She's coming this way, isn't she?" asked Sam.

"I don't understand it. They're never this active this early. Foxy never pops out on Mondays, and look!" he exclaimed, spotting the golden Freddy in a supply closet. "He usually only ever shows up on Wednesday at the earliest."

"He doesn't even look like he has a skeleton."

"He doesn't! In fact, that suit is always kept under lock and key in the back. I have no idea what he's doing up and about now." Paul flicked through the camera feeds. "What in blazes is going on tonight?"

"They're coming for you."

"No they're not. They're just malfunctioning old machines. I'm sure they'll all get replaced soon." He looked over and the Pirate's Cove camera had turned itself on, displaying a message written in Legos: _RUN SAM_.

Paul's heart lurched and he quickly turned the cameras back on. "Don't touch these controls, kid. The cameras use up power I can't afford."

"They _are_ coming for you," repeated Sam. "Because they know what you did. Jason, Shurelle…" Paul finally looked at the boy, aghast. "…Alicia."

"I never hurt Alicia!" blurted Paul. "Bill did. Her death was an accident."

"And the others?"

"You're just a kid. You don't understand. It's Bill's fault; he's the one who got me hooked. The little ones are just so flimsy, what with their little hands. Little fingers, they just break so…" He smiled with the remembrance. "…easy."

He looked at Sam, who was staring at him, wide-eyed and motionless. Ah, there it was; that intoxicating smell of fear. There really is nothing like it. He missed that aroma. This boy looks a little bit like that skinny kid that Billy found, doesn't he? What was his name, Nick? Noel? Maybe this boy is tough enough for playtime.

Sam narrowed his eyes, recognizing immediately the gaze of a predator.

Paul smiled. "Nobody knows you're here, do they kid?"

Movement caught Paul's eyes and he spotted Golden Freddy just outside the right door. He quickly slammed it.

"What was that?" said a distorted voice coming from a camera feed. Sam recognized it immediately as his brother's. The guard turned his attention to the cameras and a scruffy man and an older boy walked into frame, carrying what appeared to be shotguns.

"See those guys with guns?" said Sam. "They know I'm here."

"It was just a door. Stay focussed," came John's tinny voice from the video monitor. "I lost the brown bear. We need to lead them into a choke point."

Sam leaned out the open left door and called "Dad! I'm in here!"

Paul slammed the second hydraulic door, sealing the office. Outside the left door stood the Mangle, just off to the side, bouncing on his metal feet and waving his arms.

The guard looked from his image on the screen to Sam and said "okay, we're going to talk about what you're going to tell your dad when I open this door."

* * *

John and Dean stalked past the washrooms towards Sam's voice. Down a dark hall, papered on one side with a child's drawings of that same weeping face was the Mangle, bouncing excitedly and waving its arms. John raised is gun.

"Hold your fire!" objected Dean. Mangle gestured urgently toward the door.

John advanced and looked for a knob on the hydraulic door. Not finding one, he knocked loudly. "Sam! You in there?"

"Yeah!" answered Sam looking at Paul. "We're not going to talk about anything. Open the door." His father's hammering on the left door was joined by heavier, rhythmic metallic knocking on the right door. "Otherwise I bring the tape with your confession on it to the police." He pointed upwards, presumably at a camera.

Paul smiled. "There's no camera in the camera room."

"Doesn't matter," continued Sam. "You don't have enough juice to keep both doors closed. So given the choice, would you rather let my dad and brother in here, or them?"

The night guard activated the camera feed outside the right door. Bonnie, Foxy, Freddy and Chica were all standing outside, staring motionless at the door with their arms crossed.

"57% power and it's not even one yet," prodded Sam. "I might be just a kid, but I do know my fractions."

"You are one mean little snot, you know that?" Paul opened the left door.

"Finally," sighed John rushing in, followed by Dean, gun at the ready. "Son, we have to abort this mission. We can't get the animatronics together to rightly torch them."

"Sure you can!" said Paul. He activated the video feed to the hallway on the right, which showed the original four in that same confrontational stance, this time about 20 feet from the door. "There they are. There's your choke point. Light 'em up."

"What's the quickest way to get there from here?" asked John.

"Wait, you want to _help_ us destroy your company's property?" asked Dean. "Why?"

"Don't destroy any of the robots," said Sam. "They're not the monsters here, he is." Dean immediately raised his shotgun and pointed it at Paul. Sam continued. "This guy and his brother killed a bunch of kids here and hid their bodies."

"Hey, we didn't do anything to those bodies," objected Paul. "Nobody knows how they got in the old…" He made eye contact with John and his voice disappeared.

"But you did kill them, didn't you?" asked John darkly.

"Yeah… well…" began Paul defensively, turning red. "There's no way to prove anything either way. No charges were filed against me, and I still work here, don't I?"

"Hey Paul," said Sam pointedly, "you know that brother of yours that died? What was a security guard doing wearing a character costume?"

Dean sneered and gritted his teeth. The barrel of his gun had followed Paul's head around faithfully. "I really want to kill him," snarled Dean.

"We can't. We don't kill people, we gank monsters," replied John.

"Sam's right, though. This guy _is_ a monster!"

"Let's turn him over to the cops," offered Sam.

"There's no proof, Sammy," said John.

"There never was," added Paul serenely. "Plus, who's gonna believe three gun-toting yahoos who broke in here after hours? It's not me that comes out of this looking like the pervert. Hell, I could have done anything to this mouthy little punk."

"You were gonna hurt my kid?" asked John quietly.

"That's not what I'm getting at…"

"Nobody hurts my kid."

"Dad," said Sam, gently taking the shotgun away from his father, "there's no camera in the camera room."

John looked hard at Paul for a second and suddenly pulled off his coat. As he draped it over the swivel chair, Paul cried "Wai-wai-wait! There's no need for this! Listen, think about it: coming back here night after night, surrounded by bloodthirsty robots, running out of power – this job right here? It's Hell. It's way worse than prison."

"Peggy said it was the easiest job in the world," said John, calmly rolling up his sleeves.

"Well it isn't! It's a scary-ass, nerve-jangling nightmare. Nobody I train sticks around, I can't leave and no one else will hire me. Being stuck here is punishment enough."

"No it ain't," said John before viciously punching the night guard in the solar plexus, then in the nose when he doubled over. Paul stumbled backwards, knocking over the fan and scattering jellybeans all over the console and floor. John stomped hard on his foot and hammered him once in the ear before turning to his sons. "I think I'm done. Either of you want a turn?"

Sam shook his head and turned away as Dean delivered his foot to Paul's groin. It might have been his imagination, but Sam didn't think that the tear-stained face in the child's drawings outside the security office looked quite so sad anymore. It almost looked pleased.

* * *

The Winchesters left Purple Paul to his misery and walked back out through the darkened restaurant. On the way out, Sam noticed a faint white light flashing in the arcade. He walked over and saw his own name blinking on the screen of the Ms. Pacman game console.

"I'll see you in the car," said Sam.

"Be quick," answered John before he and Dean headed out past the two Freddy Fazbears. The brown animatronic was holding up the floppy yellow one and waving its hollow hand at them goodbye.

 _HE DID INT GET YOU_ the Ms. Pacman screen spelled out to Sam.

"Nope," said Sam. "Thanks for warning me."

 _IM GLAD YER OK_ replied the console.

"He's still here. We couldn't stop him." Sam sighed. "I'm sorry."

 _DON'T WERRY_ continued the console, _WEL GET HIM. WEL GET HIM OUR OWN SELFS._

Sam smiled and patted the console, and turned to see Chica blinking at him with her long bouncy eyelashes. She was holding a large square of cake on a paper plate with her right wing. She held it out to him, and grinned when he took it from her.

"Thank you, Chica," said Sam. He didn't know what else to say. "We're just on our way out."

"Bye birthday boy! See you next time," replied the robot with delight. "Always brush your teeth, cluck cluck!"

"No cake in the car, boy," said John from the driver's seat as Sam walked over. "Go ahead and finish it before we leave, but you have to share it with Dean."

"Where did you get that, anyway?" asked the elder brother, climbing out the window.

"The animatronic chicken brought it to me."

"Strawberry shortcake, nice!"

 **Epilogue: Paul Giardi, AKA Phone Guy AKA Purple Guy #2, dies on Night 3 of Five Nights at Freddy's. He is killed by the Freddy Fazbear animatronic as he's recording a message for Mike Schmidt, his replacement. May his fat crackle in the fires of Hell for all eternity!**


End file.
